


A Beautiful Disaster

by AlexandraO



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 20:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraO/pseuds/AlexandraO
Summary: Her nightmares always brought out her worst fears. When a marriage law is passed, Hermione struggles to let go of the past.





	A Beautiful Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DFFandCabalChristmasFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DFFandCabalChristmasFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> A marriage law is passed just before the Christmas holidays. Hermione is matched with a former Death Eater, Antonin Dolohov...and Hermione is furious. "Why is this happening?!" she demanded. "He tried to kill me!"

 

Hermione looked over at her husband, who was fast asleep in the chair near the fire. She laughed at how similar they were as she saw a book nestled in his lap. She walked over to him and picked up the book — Beauty and the Beast. It was the present she had gifted him last year and had spent the entire year talking about the similarities between him and the beast; and her and Belle. She was giddy that he was enjoying muggle literature as much as she did. She kissed his temple, and he woke.

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said sleepily, stretching his arms above his head. She sat on his lap and nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck. She felt his arms encompass her, and she hummed, loving the warmth he brought.

 

“How about we go up to bed?” he asked, whispering in her ear. She nodded and climbed up off his lap, waiting patiently for him to stand. As he did, she led him to the master bedroom, knowing they both had more than sleep on their minds.

 

After a night of loving in each other's arms, Hermione drifted off to sleep. In her blissful state, Hermione was hoping her nightmares wouldn’t make an appearance, and her dreams would be pleasant...for once.

* * *

Hermione was sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, wrapped in a blanket sipping on her first cup of coffee. She was fighting off a bad head cold, and despite hating missing work, she wasn’t well enough to make it there. Closing her eyes, she let the coffee aroma drift into her nostrils, relaxing her.  

 

The door suddenly flew open, startling her, spilling the scalding drink onto her hand. Harry, Ginny, and Ron all stomped into the kitchen, looks of fury crossing their faces. She assumed it had something to do with a news article in the prophet — it was scrunched in Harry’s fist.

 

“What the hell, guys! You scared me half to death and spilled my coffee everywhere!” she shouted, reaching for her wand to remedy the situation. It didn’t escape her notice that they all flinched as she wielded her wand. She laughed internally; she knew they didn’t take her anger lightly.

 

“Sorry Hermione,” Harry said, as Ginny said simultaneously, “Good riddance to that shite. You’re British. Why do you like that stuff?”

 

Hermione just shook her head and ignored the jab from the younger girl. Forgoing magic, she got up to refill her cup. She settled back down and looked at the three standing in front of her.

 

“Aren’t you wondering why we stormed in here ‘Mione?” Ron asked.

 

“Well, Ronald. I figured you would tell me before I had to ask,” she said shortly. Her irritation was probably uncalled for, but it partly stemmed from not yet having her cup of coffee. She took a long sip and immediately felt better.

 

The three of them stayed silent, staring, but Harry finally handed over the crumpled piece of newspaper. Setting her coffee down, she unwrinkled the paper, spreading it across the table. She gasped.

 

**_The Daily Prophet_ **

_Marriage Law Passed by Wizengamot_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Yesterday, the Wizengamot held a special court session to discuss a Marriage Law Proposal. The proposal passed with flying colors, all members sitting in the court agreeing unanimously. The proposal requires that those ages 17 to 42 must marry those of a different blood status. If couples are already married or engaged to marry, this part of the law will not apply. Once married, through the help of the law or not, all couples within the Wizarding World will have to procreate within the next year. Refusing to follow the law, will result in substantial fines each year. Witches and Wizards in the specified age group were matched following the decision to eliminate issues finding a partner. The Wizengamot believes that this will fix the lack of magical babies being born since the end of the Second Wizarding War, seven months ago. It is no secret that the Wizarding World population, especially in Britain, has been steadily decreasing since You-Know-Who gained power almost three decades ago._

_Below are the matches as approved by the Wizengamot (alphabetical by woman’s last name):_

Hermione’s eyes scanned the paper until she reached the G’s and found her last name.

 

_Granger, Hermione — Dolohov, Antonin_

 

Now she knew why Harry had the paper scrunched up in his hand when he had walked in earlier. Hermione repeated the action and threw the paper across the room. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Her mind was already reeling with questions and ideas on how to get out of the situation.

 

“Why is this happening?!” she demanded. “Dolohov tried to kill me!” This time, she threw her coffee cup at the wall, splintering into small little pieces.

 

Harry immediately whipped out his wand to clean up the mess and poured her another cup of coffee — this time adding some Bailey’s. He handed it to her, and she chugged half the mug, ignoring the burning feeling going down her throat. She would probably be sorry tomorrow when her throat was blistered, but right now she didn’t care.

 

“How did we not know about this? It happened right under our noses!”

 

“I know, Hermione. I already sent my patronus to Kingsley, and I am assuming I am not the only one. He probably had to increase the security on his mail due to the hate his is receiving,” Harry told her.

 

“I’m sure we could fix things if he were on the receiving side of my bat-bogey hex!” Ginny chimed in. Hermione smiled at the girl. They had given Kingsley and several Aurors a run for their money when he had insisted they had bodyguards following the war. He claimed it was for their protection; that war heroes and heroines could be a target for sympathizers from the Dark side.  

 

“Why am I paired with Dolohov? Seriously? He tried to kill me!” she repeated, still exasperated with the idea of marrying someone who had tried to murder a child.

 

“I-I-I…” Harry started but just shook his head in defeat. He was at a loss for words as much as Hermione was. What surprised her was that Ron had not said anything this entire conversation.

 

“Ron, what’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said, shaking his head, refusing to look her in the eyes.

 

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” she questioned him. She was at a loss at what he was apologizing for. Perhaps he was apologizing for calling her that horrid nickname earlier, she thought. She had to swallow and take a deep breath before she laughed out loud. He was in pain; it obviously wasn’t funny. She was probably delirious from the news she just received.

 

“I should have married you when I had the chance. Then you wouldn’t have to be paired with Dolohov,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Ronald, stop,” she said, getting up to wrap her arms around his torso. “We decided a long time ago that we would have never worked out.” He hugged her back, his head laying on top of hers.

 

“I know, Hermione. I am just worried about the whole situation.”

 

“Me too,” she admitted, pulling away. “At least you two are already engaged,” she said, pointing to the other two in the room. “You aren’t obligated to marry someone you hate.”

 

“I wish you weren’t, Hermione,” Harry said, hugging her. “You’re tough,” Ginny added. “If anyone can take him on in a marriage—it’s you.”

 

“Thanks, Gin. I am hoping it doesn’t get that far though. My first stop this morning will be Kingsley’s office. This law needs to be repealed as soon as possible.”

 

“Don’t count on it,” Ron snorted. “With the wizarding population in decline from the war, they are trying to replenish numbers. There would have to be an extenuating circumstance for them to drop it so soon after voting it into action.”

 

“Who are you paired with?” she questioned him. She had thrown the paper across the room before making it further down the list.

 

“Demelza Robins,” he replied, pinching his nose.  

 

“Isn’t that the girl you made cry during Quidditch practice once?” Hermione asked, a small grin on her face.

 

“The very same,” Harry said, laughing.

 

“Isn’t she still in school?” she asked pointedly, looking at Ginny. Ginny had returned for her seventh year at Hogwarts, her mother insisting she complete her N.E.W.T’s.

 

Ginny nodded. “She just turned eighteen at the end of November.” Hermione frowned. She assumed several of the current sixth and seventh years would fall under the new law. Most students, besides Ginny, probably weren’t looking forward to being tied down so soon after graduation. She had to do something, or at least try.

 

“Well, we should get dressed. Today is the last day the ministry is open for the holidays,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure they planned that on purpose.”

 

“I thought you were sick?” Ron asked.

 

“I am. But not sick enough to not raise hell about this horrid marriage law.”

 

An hour later, Hermione was gliding through the ministry hoping to catch Kingsley in his office. As she walked in, his secretary attempted to stop her. “Olivia, seriously? You’re going to try to stop me?” Hermione said, feeling her magic cackling on the tips of her hair.

 

The secretary opened her mouth to respond but decided against it. She shut her mouth and let Hermione pass. She grinned at the girl. She had hexed her too many times to count; the girl knew better than to oppose her.

Without having to reach for the door, Hermione’s magic threw the door open. Kingsley looked up at her, unsurprised of her appearance.

 

“Awh, Hermione. I was wondering if you would make your way here today.”

 

“Cut the crap, Kingsley. How could this happen?”

 

“Well, the population has decreased dramatically since the end of the war. With all of the deaths and no couples choosing to procreate immediately, magical human beings could cease to exist.”

 

“You know that’s not what I meant! How am I paired with Dolohov? He was a Death Eater, and tried to kill me!”

 

“Now, Hermione, you know that all the Death Eaters were sentenced to community service, mind healing therapy, and magic bans. All of this will help them adjust to living in the world post-war. After only seven months in, he has almost another year and a half before those restrictions are lessened or taken away. He is evaluated monthly and has an auror who acts as a parole officer, doing check-ins weekly. I’m sure he has changed his ways. If not, his sentence will be extended until he exhibits change.”

 

“Changed his ways?” she seethed. “Is that what you are going to say when one day you find me dead in my house with my throat sliced?” She was probably exaggerating, but she didn’t know how else to get through to him.

 

“I’m sorry Hermione,” he said quietly, “My hands are tied. There is nothing that I can do to help. I promise you though; he won’t be able to hurt you.”

 

“How can you promise that?”  

 

“Maybe a promise is a bit too strong,” Kingsley admitted. “But Dolohov is close to halfway done with his program. According to the mind healers heading the program, he is flourishing. For now, I hope it is a comfort to you that he cannot use his magic to harm you. He is only allowed to cast simple spells, and dark magic is blocked completely,” Kingsley explained to her.

 

She bit her lip, unsure of what to say next. Kingsley was right—there was nothing he could do to help her. She was stuck, and her status as a war heroine couldn’t help anyone, not even herself.

 

“Please go home and get some rest, Hermione,” Kingsley said, changing the subject. “You won’t fight off your sickness by traipsing around the ministry trying to repeal the law.”

 

Hermione took that as her cue to leave. She walked back out of his office, maybe a tad calmer than when she had walked in. She let her mind wander, focusing on Dolohov and how Kingsley said he had improved since entering into the rehabilitation program.  

 

As soon as she found an empty fireplace in the atrium, she Floo’d back to Grimmauld Place. Taking some muggle cough medicine, she collapsed in her bed hoping to wake up feeling better than she had that morning.

* * *

 Hermione woke up, the light from the street lamp streaming into her room. Wiping her eyes, she sat up and looked around, a bit disoriented from her sleep. After freshening herself up, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and crept down to the kitchen.

 

She found Harry, Ginny and Ron and several other members of the Order and Dumbledore’s Army sitting around the table, enjoying each other’s company and sharing a meal. They all acknowledged her as she walked in, waving and asking how she was doing.

 

“Hermione,” Harry said, smiling. He got up from the table and walked over to her. “How are you feeling?” She knew he wasn’t just asking about her cold.

 

“Better, Harry. Thank you,” she said, as she sat down at the table. Harry handed her a mug of hot chocolate and set a bowl of soup on the table in front of her. Her appetite hadn’t been the best the past week, but right now, her mouth was watering. She dug in, subconsciously listening to the conversation taking place.

 

She heard the doorbell ring and was thankful they had taken the time to take down Walburga Black’s portrait. She had had enough of the screaming portrait especially when she was spouting blood-purist bullshit.  

 

Levitating her empty bowl into the sink, charming it to clean itself she relaxed back into her chair and sipped on her hot chocolate. She hummed silently enjoying the chocolate treat.

 

Moments later, Ron walked in with a young witch behind him. The room went silent as everyone waited for Ron to introduce the young girl. It was apparent the girl attended Hogwarts as she was sporting a Gryffindor scarf. Hermione racked her brain trying to place her face but was coming up with nothing. The fact she had a scar crossing her face from her eyebrow to her chin was throwing Hermione off — she assumed it was something she acquired in battle.

 

“Erm,” Ron said, stuttering at the attention he was currently receiving. He might like the attention he receives as a war hero, but he still got public speaking jitters — even if it was in front of his friends. “This is Demelza. Demelza Robins.” The girl blushed and smiled, meekly waving her hand, saying hi.

 

Hermione smiled at the girl and then turned back to her internal thoughts. So this was the girl Ron was going to marry. Her curiosity was getting the best of her, and she was having trouble keeping her questions inside. Not wanting to embarrass or frighten the girl, she kept her mouth shut.

 

An owl suddenly flew up to the kitchen window and started tapping. Harry walked over and opened the window; allowing the owl inside. It landed on Harry’s arm, holding out its left leg where a letter was attached. As soon as Harry detached the envelope, the owl took off back through the window and out of sight.

 

Harry looked curiously at the envelope and turned it over several times before pulling out his wand tapping it many times. She assumed he was checking for curses before handing it over. “It’s for you,” he said, finally holding it out to her.

 

With shaking hands, she reached for the letter; it was indeed intended for her. She looked at Harry with fear in her eyes. She knew who the message was from. Looking at her name scrawled in slanted handwriting, she flipped the envelope over and carefully opened it as not to cut herself.

 

Unaware that the others in the rooms were focusing on her, she took a deep breath and read the letter. Before she burst into tears in front of everyone, she dropped her blanket and ran from the room. Settling in the library, she read the letter once more, and she was just as confused as the first time.

 

Harry walked in before Hermione could think about it further. With her blanket in hand, he walked over to her and placed it on her shoulders, wrapping it around her body. Sitting down next to her, she dropped her head onto his shoulder and let the tears flow. She was crying because of the law; because of lack of choice in a groom; and because she was scared. She was scared for the future and what it would hold.

 

Harry just held her and let her cry, stroking her hair. Eventually, she was all cried out and felt herself drifting off to sleep.

 

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, slighting shaking her awake. “Why don’t you go back to bed? You can sleep on what you just read and decide how to respond in the morning.” She nodded her head and slowly got up from the sofa, making the trek back up to her room.

 

As her head hit the pillow, she immediately was whisked away by her dreams. Thankfully, her recurring nightmares featuring Dolohov didn’t make an appearance.

* * *

 The next day, Hermione sat at the kitchen table, her hair wrapped around her fingers in frustration. She had read Dolohov’s letter over and over again but still had no idea how to respond.

 

“’Mione, you just need to send it,” Ron said, with a mouth full of food. She gave him a look, and he swallowed, knowing she despised when he talked with his mouth full.

 

Gritting her teeth, she scrawled out a quick message asking Dolohov to meet her at a coffee shop in Muggle London later that day. An owl came back not even an hour later, thanking her and agreeing to the place and time she had suggested.

 

Hermione spent a long time underneath the scalding hot water of the shower, reliving the few memories she, unfortunately, had with Dolohov. Only when her skin was beet red, and her hands prune-like did she step out of the shower.

 

Dressing in her everyday muggle clothes, not bothering to dress in robes just to please the pure-blood Russian wizard. Not to mention, they were headed to a muggle café where robes were frowned upon, or at least suspicious.

 

She laced up her snow boots, placed a scarf around her neck and put on her most massive winter coat. Being under the weather, she didn’t need to succumb to anything else, prolonging what she already had.

 

She walked briskly to the café, wanting to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. She would have apparated, but not knowing the area well; it could have been disastrous.

 

Walking in, she sat in the furthest booth from the door and shrugged out of her coat. It was quite warm, and the warmth of her sweater was almost too much. The waitress sauntered over to her table as she got settled.

 

“What can I get for ya, sweetie?” The older woman asked.

 

“I’m not quite ready to order yet. I’m waiting for someone,” Hermione replied. The waitress nodded her head and walked off to help a couple who had just walked in.

 

The door chimed once more and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat and fear ran through her veins. The man who had once tried to kill her and had murdered countless others including Remus was standing less than five feet from her. She was surprised, to say the least — he looked better than he had at the final battle.

 

She watched as he strolled over to her, stopping next to the table. “Miss Granger,” he said, formally.

 

She nodded her head and whispered, “Dolohov.” As soon as his name left her mouth, he sat down across from her in the booth. He continued to look at her curiously, simultaneously flagging down the waitress.

 

“I’ll take a coffee, black,” he said, once the waitress approached.

 

“And you?” The waitress asked.

 

“I’ll take a caramel macchiato, please,” she whispered. The waitress nodded as she took down Hermione’s order on her paper tablet. “It’ll be right out,” she told them and walked off, leaving them to themselves.

 

Hermione kept her eyes averted. Typically, she wasn’t so timid and scared, but the man sitting across from her made her uncomfortable. He had tried to kill her when she was only fifteen years old and again in the final battle. If it hadn’t been for Remus protecting her, she would presently be six feet under the ground.

 

She knew he was still staring at her, but she couldn’t find it in her yet to look him directly in the eyes. The waitress returned after several minutes, his coffee and her macchiato in hand.

 

“Thank you,” they replied simultaneously. As Hermione took a sip of her steaming hot macchiato, she shoved her fear down, took a chance and looked at him. He was looking right back. She looked immediately back down, suddenly extremely interested in the white swirls in her drink rather than speaking to another human being.

 

“Granger, look at me,” he begged. She raised her eyes once more, finding his face. A look of fear had replaced the curious look from earlier. She couldn’t decide if the fear look was more unsettling than his grimace he sported during battle. At least from across the battlefield, she knew what his intentions were. Sitting here with him, in normality, was odd, to say the least.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. Hermione raised her eyebrow. He was going to have to do better than that. Just a simple apology was not going to be enough when he had attempted to murder her and her friends on multiple occasions.

 

“Look, I know this situation isn’t ideal for you. But I can promise you one thing, I will never hurt you again,” Dolohov promised, attempting to reach for her hand.

 

She pulled her hand away before he could touch it and he almost looked hurt at the gesture. But seriously, what did he expect? “How do I know that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t find it in herself to speak aloud.

 

He shook his head and slammed his fist on the table. He looked up at her, and the wild man that she remembered from the Department of Mysteries had appeared. He wasted no time, reaching across the table for her, and before she could react, his hands snaked around her neck. They tightened, and she realized this was it. With the booth shielding him, the waitress otherwise occupied, and no other patrons around, she was going to die a muggle death. She gripped the side of the table, her breath coming in short spurts, life slowly leaving her body.

* * *

 Hermione awoke with a start, her chest heaving. Above her, Antonin loomed, looking at her in concern. She hadn’t had that bad of a nightmare in a long time, especially about her husband.

 

“What is it, sweetheart?” he said, pushing her hair back from her sweat covered face.

 

“A nightmare,” she whispered, sitting up in their shared bed. “The same one.”

 

“What happened this time?” he asked her, slowly rubbing circles on her back. She was grateful that he was doing what he could to relax and calm her down.

 

“You grabbed me from across the booth and were choking me,” she told him, tears running down her face, sobs threatening to violently grip her body.  

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said.

 

“No, it’s me that should be sorry. It seems like no matter how much I move toward the future when awake, my dreams seem to dive deep into my subconscious bringing out my worst fears. I’m so sorry, Antonin,” she cried, the sobs finally wracking through her body.

 

Antonin just held her, like he always did, whispering words of comfort in her ears. She didn’t know what she would do without him. They still might have some hurdles to jump after an unconventional start to their relationship, but she didn’t regret following through with the marriage law the previous year. Antonin was hers, and she was Antonin’s. They were a beautiful disaster...and probably always would be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, I was BOTWP!


End file.
